


Our Dairy Free Love Story

by thrushrut



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Barista Lance, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, fashion vlogger lotor, like everyones in here to a degree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:14:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrushrut/pseuds/thrushrut
Summary: Lance is down on his luck, he can't seem to hold a job, his car is three tires in the grave. He's pretty sure it can't get much worse. That is until he meets internet sensation fashion vlogger Lotor Galran. He's everything Lance has ever wanted to be, confident, gorgeous and a functioning adult, he's additionally one thing Lance never counted on though.Lactose intolerant.and Lance is the idiot who accidentally gives him dairy milk in his coffee.This is where our story unfortunately begins.





	1. The beginning of the end

In the corner of his bedroom, lost under mounds of fallen posters and stale clothes and what might possibly be a guitar case, lies a shoebox. The box itself isn’t anything special, it’s old and off brand, the shoes once inside are long since worn and ruined. The current contents however, remain a constant plague on the owner of the bedroom since it was stuffed in there.

 

Twenty two year old Lance McClain scowls softly at the pile as he pulled on his pants. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it, he was late for work as it is and he still needed to drop his car off at the mechanics because it was leaking oil like crazy. Why in the world had he chosen buying groceries over getting a new alarm clock? Again, not something he should be focusing on, but the box and its contents haunted him like a specter. Latching on lazily to the tail ends of his thoughts as he bustles out the door, finally ready for a day that already needed to be long over with.

 

Only mildly concerned for his safety, the brunette practically flies down the rickety old stairs of his apartment building; a wave offered to some of the children fluttering outside like packs of high energy butterflies. They attempt to get him to play their game of, well they called it Hurt Ball but he was pretty sure it was some kind of wrestling-basketball mix. With a few placating words and a promise to play later, he escapes the clutches of tiny sticky hands as he rushes to his car. This wasn’t going to be a good day, but then it felt like the last four years of his life hadn’t really been all that kind. ‘It’s because you dropped out of college,’ a little voice reminds him as he reaches his first destination, jiggling the key until the lock popped open. 

 

It probably was too, all of his friends were in school, minus Shiro and Allura who had long since graduated. The point being they had also gone and conquered and Lance was the only one who dropped out, after two semesters no less. He absently sends Jesus or whoever a little prayer before twisting the key in the ignition. The car gives a sputter, and a spurt, but it eventually sneezes itself awake, reminding Lance to look into going to Church to give his full support to the big man on high looking out for him.

 

He wasn’t going to actually go but he felt like at least making some effort had to count for something. Traffic ends up being just as terrible as he predicted, nothing good comes on the radio when two cars rub up against each other and tie a more complicated knot on the expressway then there already was. A phone call does come through from his most cherished friend, Hunk, but thanks to his lack of preparation his earbuds are still on the bathroom sink. 

 

Lance hits the speaker button and tosses his phone into the cup holder. “Hi Hunk,” he nearly shouts, praying the noises from the mass of pissed off drivers wouldn’t drown anything out. There’s a crackle, and he hears his best friend reply in kind, “hey Lance, you late for work again?” Omitting many of the reasons as to why he was late, he settles for the biggest issue so far, “yeah, a couple of cars knocked into each other and have done a real number to the flow of the biggest expressway in the city!” his voice escalates with each word until he’s jabbing at his horn, this was just a perfect addition to his midday. 

 

A noise of sympathy rouses from Hunk, “that bad huh? How’s work been otherwise, you still in the dog house after the incident?” A darker scowl smears Lance’s face, The Incident had been a customer screaming at Lance until he cried over a botched coffee. The manager had been sympathetic to a point, but had moved Lance to dishwashing for two weeks while he went over the basics of making each of their drinks, for the third time. He slides in front of a semi as soon as there’s a gap, sticking his tongue out at one of the drivers who’d been in the minor collision while they slowly inch by.

 

“Coran let me move back up to the front, but no one really trusts me to make any of the drinks right now so I’m on the cash register.” A large part of it was he didn’t really trust himself either but he wasn’t about to tell Hunk that. “Uhuh,” there’s mild skepticism in the man’s tone, but he drops it swiftly, known Lance had a hatred for digging into that kind of thing. “Well how’s the apartment? Last time you told me you were lookin for a new one right?” Yeah if he could find a job that let a loser like him make enough money for an apartment with, god forbid, a normal, functioning refrigerator. 

 

“Still on the lookout,” he replies instead, stomping on the gas to resume his speeding in the hopes he still had a job. “Well have you looked around Madison? It’s a little more expensive but we’d be closer together! Hey, maybe we could even room again!” Okay the thought of being roommates with the best soulmate buddy ever was tempting, but he couldn’t be anywhere near that school again. Hunk swore with a little time he’d work through it, but it had been a super long time and he still couldn’t think about it without it making his skin crawl.

 

“I’ll try, hey bud sorry to cut this short but I gotta drop my car off, I’ll call you later?” A swift hand taps the end call button before Hunk can reply, and really he feels awful about it. But the feeling does lessen just a tad when he passes five cop cars as he merges off onto the exit ramp just a few streets from the mechanics. The shop was called Five Lions, owned and managed by a hot headed raven named Keith Kogane. He was a regular down at the cafe, and had taken to Lance when they got into a fight over who was worse, Michael Cera or Ryan Gosling. 

 

His car practically wheezes its final death knell when it’s shut off, but with no time to speculate on the eerie noise Lance is already through the door and throwing his keys at the startled mechanic. “Hey, no time to talk, late for work, will bring you back coffee later, bye!” and then he’s gone again, studiously ignoring the indignant hollering that follows him down the street. The cafe he works for is luckily close by, just a few streets over and a couple blocks down from the Five Lions Auto Shop. With Lance’s gangly runner's legs and an impeccable timing for the street lights, he makes it there in roughly ten minutes.

 

Which would be amazing, if he wasn’t already two hours late for his shift. One of his favorite bitchy coworkers is the first one to spot him. Her eyes narrow and sharply she juts her chin over to the employee entrance for him to hurry up and get changed and get over to her. With a quickness he wasn’t aware himself capable of, Lance just barely finishes twisting his apron strings into a knot when she shoves him over to the machines. “Hurry up and start making drinks, we’re already short staffed as it is so I don’t have time for you to get all emo about making stuff again.” 

 

“But Nyma,” the words that want so desperately to come pouring out are stopped cold when she looks at him with the promise of death in those eyes. He see’s death and destruction and a long agonizing eternity in hell. So with enough nerves to rattle a caffeine addict, he grabs the first cup and starts to fulfill orders. It’s swift and mindless work but Lance is overthinking it, he doesn’t want to mess up again so he tries to double check everything. Eventually his mind attempts to wander, and it’s a war to blank out on every piece of anxiety chewing at his brain to just focus on the ingredients in front of him.In the end, the events of the day start to wear his motivation thin, and as he passes over the last cup before his break he manages a bleak smile at the very pretty man who takes it. 

 

The other blinks a few times before offering a smile back, his teeth practically sparkling even in the gross lighting of the cafe. “Thanks cutie,” he says before turning to wander over to a table near one of the windows. Cutie, yeah right, Lance can’t help his appreciative gaze at the beautiful outfit the platinum blonde is wearing before a hand touches his shoulder. Trying and somehow succeeding in not screaming like a teenage girl, Lance jerks, owlish eyes meeting those of his manager. Or he tries to, instead his gaze is drawn to his highly distracting bushy orange mustache.

 

Coran smiles, his aura like a supernova against Lance’s dark mood, it’s to a point it’s almost disorienting, forcing the brunette to blink a few times. “Lance! I’m here to release you onto your break, but I have a favor, do you think you could tidy up the bathrooms when you return?” That was the politest Coran speak for ordering Lance on cleaning duty. It didn’t happen often, so of course it would come around on a day where he just wanted to play in traffic. Plastering a big smile on his face, he nods, “sure I can, I’ll be back in fifteen!”

 

And fast as he can he’s out the backdoor and into the alleyway, hands fumbling around in his pockets for gum. It was a cheap, minty, healthier alternative to smoking, which really, Lance was trying his hardest to quit. It was stupid enough that he’d started the habit considering how expensive it was. Really he could barely afford gas, what kind of posh lifestyle was he trying to attain? A snort drifts out of him as he attempts to chew the urge away, blowing the occasional bubble even though it wasn’t that kind of gum.

 

With no coffee or blenders or fancy stirring sticks to distract him, his mind drifts once again to the box. Plain, boring, hidden, hiding, all the little and big things he’d rather not think about sealed inside it. If he were wise he’d unbury it, look through it, burn it to ashes and move on with his life. But he can’t, it feels too big for that, like a monster hiding under the bed that refuses to budge. So he’d just piled stuff over it, hoping that the phrase, out of sight out of mind, would be applicable to his predicament. 

 

It wasn’t. It felt like the more stuff he threw in that corner the more he thought about the stupid little shoe box. On the nineteenth bubble he blows a chirping sounds from his watch, signaling that he wasted yet another break thinking about things he’d done and couldn’t change. Which meant…, Lance wrinkles his nose, it was time for bathroom duty. It probably wouldn’t be too terrible if people were actually decent human beings. But this was a food industry job so of course they weren’t. He dutifully marches inside and gathers the mop bucket, spray bottle and paper towels, jaw set in grim determination as he wanders into the mens bathroom.

 

It looks as it always does, an imitation of clean urinals and two stalls, that was until you opened each one to find the horrors beyond. So he sighs and starts spraying down the mirrors, it’s all quick and mostly painless. In fact he thinks it might be the easiest time he’s ever had with this particular task, all that’s left is to mop. Lance starts in the very back corner and slowly makes his way around the last stall, he’s just about to start on the second one when the door to the bathroom slams open with enough force to make him shriek.

 

“Bathrooms closed for cleaning!” He stutters out, frantic eyes taking in, the cute guy? It was the man who had called him cute, his face is slightly clammy, hands trembling at his sides. Lance doesn’t even begin to know what to do, but luckily he doesn’t have to. The cute guy takes exactly three steps towards him, staggers, and throws up all over Lance’s apron and his shoes. “Oh my god!” arms quickly fly out to catch the blonde and with what strength Lance could muster under all his anxiety. He hauls him into a stall, swooping back his hair so he can finish emptying his stomach more appropriately.

 

They sit there for a little while, Lance alternating between rubbing along the blonde’s shoulders to up and down his spine, one hand still dedicated to holding his hair back. Finally after a heavy shudder, weary blue eyes lift to meet his own, the stranger rasping out, “the drink, you, I asked for soy milk.” “Soy milk?” he parrots almost dumbly, “but I put…, oh god, I can’t remember if I used soy or not, you’re lactose intolerant aren't you? I’m so sorry oh no I,” Lance’s voice warbles, trailing off because he’s really honestly fucked up this time.

 

Tears are glossing over in his eyes before he even really has a chance to think about what’s going on. In a desperate attempt to stave them off he squeezes his eyes shut a couple times, of course he’d fuck up while trying not to fuck up, it was the McClain specialty apparently. A hand bumps at his cheek, swiping at a runaway tear as the blonde leans back from the toilet, his breathing slow and soft. “You don’t need to tell my manager,” are the first words out of Lance’s mouth, eyes still shut, “I’ll do it, I knew I shouldn’t be left to make the drinks I’m, I’m just really sorry.”

 

So many thoughts were tumbling around in his head like loose marbles. Without this job he’d lose his shit apartment and he’d never get his car back from Keith. Where was he supposed to go? It was bad enough that he lost his last job much the same way, and a miracle Coran had taken pity on him when they’d met at that pet clinic when….

 

Slate eyes open when the finger bumps his cheek again, the blonde is watching him with a hazy kind of thoughtfulness, lips twisted down. “Don’t do anything, just, allow me one moment alright?” eyebrows knitted together, he doesn’t know what else to do except nod. Fingers hesitantly brushing across the stranger's back in what scraps of comfort he could give. It seems to help, he can feel the muscles slowly relaxing into his touch with each stroke, those eyes staring aimlessly at the wall before they slowly gain focus. He’s not all together there, but attentive enough to look at Lance again.

 

“Would water help?” Lance hazards in a soft voice, “I don’t know what to do, I’ve never met anyone who’s, um, yeah.” Somehow the blonde manages an elegant snort, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. “It would, but it might be best to take your apron off first,” he looks over Lance’s shoulder, nose wrinkling, “I have to apologize about that, and the floor.” Without even thinking, Lance’s mouth flies open, “fuck the floor! Okay wow I’m sorry, cursing is bad, but I think it’s called for here. I’ll tell the manager what happened in a second, first let's get you out of here and you can sit in our breakroom is that okay?” 

 

The outburst startles the blonde slightly, eyes blinking in owlish wonder but eventually he agrees, allowing Lance to pull them both up in the cramped stall. Now that they’re up close he’s so much taller, the heels certainly don’t help but Lance takes it in stride. “C’mon follow me,” with careful hands he takes him by the elbow, allowing plenty of time for protest or rejection. Nothing follows but a slight nod, the stranger patiently letting himself be lead across the cafe and through the employee's door. They enter into a small room with a folding table, a cluttered counter and a fridge.

 

“Sit here for a sec and I’ll grab you some water,” he plops the blonde down and without giving him time to reply, rockets right out of the break room and into action. The apron is ripped off and dunked in the trash, luckily just as Lance is executing a move of potential high treason, Coran turns the corner. His mustache does a funky little dance, eyebrows pulled up in confusion, “Lance what on earth are you doing?” “I uh, I was cleaning and this guy came in and threw up on me but it was my fault so he’s in the break room, and I need water?” 

 

It’s like he’s hurling scrabble words all mixed mashed together, but heavenly saint Coran seems to understand. “Why don’t I finish the bathroom right quick and you help the customer? Go grab a large cup from the front for him, and you did a good job taking care of this Lance.” He’s trying to be kind, really he is, but the statement just sends a machete of guilt careening right through Lance’s gut. There wouldn’t even be an issue if he’d just done what he was supposed to and gotten the poor guy soy milk. 

 

None of that is said though, the stranger's words echoing in his head, ‘don’t do anything.’ If he was planning to tell Coran himself then fine, that was only the tip of the iceberg of what Lance deserved for this one. He shakes himself out of his self deprecation for a moment to rush to the front, snatching a cup full of water and expertly monkeying his way back around the counter to his final destination. Amazingly the blonde is in the exact same position and facial expression that Lance left him in, like a dazed ragdoll too drained to do much of anything at all. The cup is placed down as a peace offering and he hesitates for a moment, unsure if he should sit as well.

 

Finally the exhaustion from the day hits him like a brick, and quietly Lance slips into the seat across from this man he’s harassed with lethal liquids; folding his hands like that of a child waiting for punishment. The stranger makes the first move from there, nimble fingers hesitating just slightly like he’s not sure if he can take something else Lance is giving him. “Don’t worry,” he finds himself mumbling, “there’s no milk in the water, I had someone else pour it this time.” It startles a small laugh out of him, and the cup is accepted and sipped at slowly. “Thank you, water and ginger ale sometimes help in small quantities.”

 

Lance nods along, dutifully filing this information away as part of a lesson very well learned. With renewed bravery and acceptance, he starts to open his mouth, but the blonde beats him to it. “I don’t want you to get fired, I know you didn’t mean to mix up my drink,” his jaw snaps shut again like a trap, allowing the other to continue. “However, something will have to be done, so I propose an arrangement.” Oh good god, was he going to ask him to sell drugs? He’d make a horrible drug mule, or human trafficker, he’s pretty sure he’d botch any job given to him even if it was dog walking.

 

“I won’t tell your boss if you agree to be my makeup model,” “wait what?” Is the absolutely Intelligent reply that bursts out of Lance’s mouth. “Wait,” he panics, not noticing the very amused look on the others face. “Okay let me back up, if I let you paint me like a french girl you won’t tell my boss I basically poisoned you?” “I think poisoned is a bit of a strong word, and that particular look might be a tad too strong for what I want but essentially yes.” The reply is soft and light and sends the strangest tingle right up Lance’s spine.

 

Without pause, the blonde reaches into his pants pocket, popping open a little metal case and hands him a shimmery business card. “My name is Lotor, I run a high end online boutique and fashion vlog, I’m-.” Lance doesn’t mean to interrupt, really he doesn't, but as soon as all these facts are placed before him he can’t help it. “I know your vlog! A lot of people call you the lilac prince, but, I thought your hair was kind of purple?” The acknowledgment seems to light Lotor’s face, a hand absently curling a lock of his nearly white blonde hair. 

 

“I dye it, purple is my favorite and longest lasting look, I can fill you in more on it and all that I do, if you agree to be my model.” What a tempting offer that was, honestly how could Lance say no? Now that he truly got a look at Lotor’s face, it all clicked. This was fashion icon Lotor Galran, estranged heir to the multimillion dollar Galran fashion empire. Lance used to go to the library twice a week to use the free wifi and see what the up and coming news was on him and all his business ventures. Now he was here, Lance had made him hurl, and he was offering him a chance to be apart of the magic. 

 

“Okay, I mean yas, no yes, wait let me start over again.” Lotor is chuckling softly but he allows Lance to get himself together and flash the biggest smile he can considering the ridiculous circumstances getting him into this. “My name is Lance McClain, I’m a barista, and I would love to be a makeup model.” They reach across the table, hands curling around each other in a warm handshake. “It’s very nice to meet you Lance, I think this is going to be fun.” Sweet jesus on high, Lance sure hoped so too.


	2. juice boxes and wrong numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is doing his best damnit

 

It’s about seven when Lance gets off work. His original shift had been till five, but considering he’d come in so late he felt it only fair to stay. He’s currently wandering back to the Five Lions garage, boiling hot coffee cup in hand and freshly washed sneakers squishing on the pavement when he walked. Lotor had been horrified when he realized he’d ruined Lance’s shoes. But all things considered, Lance felt like it was a small price to pay for everything going on. He thinks back to soft almost white locks, warm brown skin and dazzling blue eyes and can’t help the smile that takes over his face. 

 

Lotor was beautiful, always had been, Lance can still recall the very first time he’d ever seen the man. It had been during a self pity party right after he’d moved into his current place. His parents were upset with him for dropping out of school, and he had no motivation to do anything. But then, scrolling through a fashion blog, he’d seen a recommendation for Lotor’s page and had quickly become enamored. He was only a couple years older but he’d clawed his way into the spotlight with beautiful designs and killer makeup. A hurricane in the form of a man who could make Adonis jealous. 

 

So of course Lance would meet said idol, not even realize it, and make him puke. He puckers his lips, twisting around another corner on his journey to Keith. But he was so kind, asking him to be a makeup model? Who even did that, well actually Lance would, his heart was soft especially for people who just couldn’t seem to catch a break. Even Keith, who could make him so mad, had a special place in Lance’s heart. Speaking of, he’s coming up on the garage and Keith is outside, flicking the ashes of a cigarette onto the ground and chatting on a cellphone. 

 

Lance lifts his arm to wave, watching the other end his call and wave back, cigarette flung to the ground and soundly stopped out. Keith knew he was trying to quit, and usually tried to never smoke when he was around. That’s how he knew the raven was also a secret softy, even when he vehemently denied it. “So,” Keith calls when Lance gets close enough, “that coffee better be for me.” Snorting, Lance hands it over, arms crossing out of reflex once it’s out of his grasp, “duh, you know I hate the stuff. Besides I’m super sorry for earlier, my clock broke and I was late for like everything.” 

 

He receives a hum, Keith too busy sipping at the sugary sweet concoction to reply. “I don’t know how you can even drink that,” there was about six shots of espresso and enough chocolate syrup to kill a Newfoundland dog, or a horse. “Sleep is for the weak,” Keith announces, shaking the cup around a little to stir up its contents. “Car talk though, so your head gaskets are pretty trashed.” Oh god that did not sound good, Lance know’s he has to ask even though he’d rather not. “How much is it to fix?” The telltale sign is when Keith hesitates, eyebrows scrunching and lips pulling in a displeased way. 

 

“About two grand, I might be able to work more with fifteen hundred but honestly you’re better off getting a new car.” If Lance had been holding anything he would have dropped it by now, he settles instead for covering his face and groaning loudly. Tears are pushing at the corners of his eyes again, face hot and tingly as he does his very best to fight them off. A hand hesitantly touches his shoulder, offering a tiny squeeze. “Sorry, that’s the best I can do, maybe you can get someone to buy it and get something cheap and not as broken?”

 

That was a pretty good plan, if not for one little fact. “It’s still in my dad’s name, I’d have to call them and tell them what happened and….” He can feel his throat closing up, trembles racing along his shoulders. If his parents found out they’d be so disappointed and most likely not let him sell it and try to get him to come home and he just couldn’t-. The hand on his shoulder flinches before renewing its hold, suddenly it gives a tug as Keith tries to pull him into the building. “Come on, I have some tissues and juice in my office, and so are the keys for your car.” 

 

With purpose in his stride Keith leads them through the barren waiting room and into a cluttered little space in the back. He shoves a stack of files off a chair, plopping Lance down on it so he can raid the small fridge for a drink. Lance takes the time to try and breathe, eyes flickering to posters of cars and cats and the cutest hippo calendar. A box is placed in his line of sight, the straw already punched through the pouch. “It’s apple juice is that okay?” It wasn’t his favorite but who was he to argue? “Sure, thanks bud,” shaky hands clutch at it like a lifeline, and for one nostalgic moment Lance kind of feels like he’s seven again.

 

But he’s not, he’s twenty two, his car is dying and his life kind of feels like a bleak pointless wasteland. Keith takes up the seat behind the desk, sipping at his coffee while sharp grey-blue eyes never leave the form of his friend. Eventually Lance hiccups, sobs working past his lips as he chews and chews on the little plastic straw and cries for all he’s worth. It seems a crying Lance was not what Keith had expected, he scrambles in his desk drawer for a moment. Forcing puffy misty blue eyes to look over right when something soft hits him in the face. 

 

It lands on his lap, forcing him to rub at the tears stinging his eyes. When he’s finally got a bit of a hold on himself he looks down. Staring up at him is the precious face of Pusheen, untainted by the hardships and horrors of life. Next a bundle of tissues is smashed right up against his eye, forcing him to choke and snatch them away from Keith and his strange caring assault. “Someone I care about said tissues and that little grey cat make everything better, also ice cream but I don’t have a freezer part to that mini fridge.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Lance, he gathers Pusheen into his arms, using the fist full of tissues as a shield for his abused eyes. “Honestly I don’t want to see any dairy product for like the next seven years, but these totally help thanks.” A pause, and then, “also his name is Pusheen you heathen, and he’s all that's good in this awful world.” It’s not said loudly, but he’s certain he hears Keith mutter, “well excuse me,” before finishing off his coffee. “Your car will run for a while longer,” he says in a slightly louder, kinder tone, “I can’t guarantee how long is the problem.” Giving the tissues one good aggressive wipe across his face, Lance moves to stuff them into his jacket pocket. He does a combination huff and shrug, pulling Pusheen and the abused juice box close to his face. 

 

“It’s fine, as long as it works for now I can see if maybe someone close to my place is hiring so I can get spare cash.” It’s very clear to both parties that he doesn’t sound optimistic about the outcome. In fact Lance wasn’t even sure there were any businesses close to his place, which just added to the knots of anxiety in his stomach. Those could just take a flying leap for the time being, first things first, Lance felt cold and tired and desperately wanted to go home. “How much do I owe you?  I really want to go home and take a shower.” 

 

He doesn’t expect the keys to be dangled in his face, Keith pretending to look nonchalant about it. “It’s free this time, I didn’t even do much but monkey around in the engine compartment, just take it and go eat something okay?” If he was even remotely attracted to Keith he’s sure he’d kiss the raven. He settles for clumsily grasping at the keys, shooting a grateful smile his way because he knows he’s lying. “Thank you, I’ll text you tomorrow for sure, oh and here,” Pusheen is offered across the desktop but Keith swiftly shoves him back at Lance. “Keep him for now. I think you need the pushie cat more than I do.” 

 

Unable to keep the affection out of his voice, Lance laughs, “I said it’s Pusheen! But okay I’ll give him a new proper home, where’s my car at anyway?” He keeps on laughing when Keith throws his hands up and practically drags him out into the shop. “I put it in bay three, I’ll open the door for you to back out and you better text me when you get home.” Lance can’t help but reply, “sure thing mom,” as he jiggles the lock to his car open. “I’ll kick your ass!” he also pretends not to hear the threat over the choking wheeze of the engine, instead waving innocently as he carefully backs out of the garage and onto the street. 

 

Keith watches from the sidewalk for a moment, almost like he’s fearful the car might explode going down the street. But eventually as Lance turns the corner, he sees him pull out his phone as he wanders back into the shop. Now it’s just Lance, his thoughts, and Pusheen who’s carefully buckled into the passenger's seat. He knows a call to Hunk is in order, but he’s pretty sure the dregs of his social interaction energy had been burned on Keith. Now it was time to sob into a ratty old couch and use the wifi he’d pilfered from his elderly neighbor to stream netflix.

 

Thankfully the ride home is quick and uneventful, he’s even blessed with the absence of children on the front stoop. Even though he’d taken the extra precaution of hiding Pusheen in his bag from sticky little fingers. The only other creature he sees on his journey is one lone pigeon trying to make off with half a bag of mini donuts. But then he’s twisting the keys to his apartment and he’s inside, he’s home. A quick text is sent to Keith, ‘Honey I’m home’ he also spams several emojis while shoving his shoes off just inside the door. Lance then takes just a moment to center himself, it’s absolutely silent other than his breathing. Nothing has shifted even a centimeter since he’d scrambled to work. It was cold and alien even after four months since Blue had passed.

 

He travels across the room, studiously ignoring the dust filled cat dishes by the window in favor of curling up on the couch. There’s a soft crunch nearby his head and with a swift hand he pulls a bag of cheezits out from between the cushions. Keith did say to eat…, he then tucks the plush toy up against his chest. Phone loosely clutched in one hand as he boots up his laptop on the makeshift coffee table and waits for netflix to load. Needing some kind of feel good content, he selects That 70’s Show. To some random early episode where things were sillier and more carefree. In that time span he receives three texts, in this order:

 

**Keith: Lance did you make it home?**

 

**Keith: Don’t make me break into your apartment, I know where you live**

 

_ Lotor: I’m glad you made it home, do these emoji’s have any special meaning I need to decode? _

 

His mind blanks for exactly two minutes before he swears, hot and loud with enough feeling to make his grandma roll in her grave. 

 

_**Me > Keith: YES KEITH I’M HOME DON’T U DARE** _

 

_**Me > Lotor: oh my GOD, I’m so sorry!! I meant to send that to a friend, he hates emoji’s and stuff it’s, yeah omg sorry** _

 

Wow of course, why wouldn’t he text Lotor something stupid, how did he even manage that. A quick look shows Lotor had been the last person he texted since he’d asked that they exchanged numbers. Usually it was Keith or Hunk, on the occasion it was Pidge and their weird homestuck speak. Rarer were the fortune cookie phrases and cat memes Shiro would send, or checking in to make sure he was still alive. The phone vibrates rapidly again, forcing him to lift his phone up to see the damage.

 

_ Lotor: Oh it’s not a problem, these things can happen. I was actually just about to send you a message, can you come over on Thursday? _

 

**Keith: I’m watching you punk**

 

In his minds eye he can practically see Keith squinting at him, making several ‘I’m watching you’ motions. On the opposite spectrum, he can see Lotor, a light smile on his lips, eyes crinkling in the corners as he poses the question. Now that one gave him serious butterflies in his stomach, he sends as many cat emojis as he can to Keith before opening his pictures for his schedule. 

 

_**Me > Lotor: Thursday is super good for me, great even, you’ll have to give me your address though, or did you want to meet somewhere else first? ** _

 

Idly he entertains the thought of getting up for real food, but a handful of cheezits keeps him stationary when Lotor replies.

 

_ Lotor: It’s quite alright for you to come straight here, I’ll send you my address thursday morning _

 

_ Lotor: :) _

 

He can’t help but squint at the plain little smiley face in front of him,  taunting him with its blank emotionless eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if Lotor is receptive to the idea, he can teach him the wonderful world of kaomojis. Which Lance would use in full force if his phone could support a keyboard for them. That was probably the greatest thing Matt, Pidge’s elder brother, had ever shown him. There’s no urge to respond right away, so his attention strays to the episode unfurling before him. He watches in the way someone who’s seen it a million times, yet still finds it entertaining, would.

 

Yet a sudden thought occurs, one that strikes him in the midst of scooping another handful of cheddar squares out of the plastic pouch. “Dang, I left my juice box on Keith’s desk,” and as if by some magic force his phone buzzes one final time. A text from Keith that says,

 

**Keith: you left your juice, I’m saving it in the fridge and you better come back and drink it that’s wasteful**

 

Dutifully, Lance replies with, ‘yes mom,’ before rolling over and closing his eyes. Realistically he knows it’s only nine or so, and he could do so much. But it felt like the very last itty bitty drop of his energy was used up sending that message. So with a heavy sigh and Pusheen for company. Lance closes his eyes and lets the myriad of voices from his laptop lull him to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update because I couldn't help myself;;; I'm gonna try to update every sunday and thursday but knowing me and my impatient nature who even knows. also i love that keith loves hippos??? thats so cute??? and i feel awful about Blue but I felt it kind of fitting

**Author's Note:**

> WOW, I haven't written in a while. but season 3 has me so GOT DANG HYPED UP I LOVE LOTOR AND HIS GENERALS AND EVERYONE FRICK. 
> 
> I also have all of you who commented on my kinship fic to thank, you motivated me to continue my spree of soft good lancelot because we really need more of it? I was dipping through the tags on here and like why is it almost all abusive lancelot turned klance. PLEASE JUST GIVE ME MY PRINCE AND BLUE BOY.
> 
> also first time writing sheith??? wow I never thought i'd see the day I did it but here we are
> 
> This is gonna be long I think, I came up with this idea a while ago in hopes of making more good soft lancelot. so i hope you're all ready to strap in with me and see where tf this goes, also if you wanna scream with me I'm super active on my [twitter!!](https://twitter.com/volpiepunch)


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